


Sweat, Blood and Tears

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Masturbation, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Self Pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-01-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ginny was frantically in love with Harry, of that she was sure...but what could she do about it?





	Sweat, Blood and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** **My first ever fancfiction at The Quidditch Pitch- a tribute to the character of Ginny Weasley, for whom I have great affection. Enjoy!**

Sweat, Blood and Tears 

 

It was one o’clock in the morning, and Ginny Weasley was masturbating in her dormitory bed. 

Well, by this stage, you could hardly call it masturbating anymore- it was more a prolonged suicide attempt. (Love that.)

Her wand lay forgotten beside her, still glowing from the _Lumos_ spell she had initiated hours ago. The faint white spell-light shone off her bare body, which by now was flushed a deep pink and glistened damply. Sweat poured off her in torrents, drenched her sheets; her hair had gone from soft orange to dark red and clung in strands to her shoulders; her chocolate-brown eyes were shut tight against the shockwaves of sensation that tore through her burning muscles and vibrated deep inside herself, matching the beat of the thumping red-hot furnace that was her heart. 

“Ohhh.” A soft moan escaped her parted lips, hardly audible. Her body quivered as she drove her fingers deep into herself, fast and hard. She gasped and arched her back suddenly as she felt herself, once again, nearing the edge of the cliff, beyond which lay the bottomless ocean of bliss. 

“Oh Harry, bloody hell, Harry!” she rasped in an almost primeval growl as she soared to an awesome peak for the seventh time that night. Her orgasm hit her hard, scraping nerves already raw, but she didn’t care. 

Once the ripples slowed and finally died down, she lay still for a moment, panting, recovering. Eventually she found her wand with trembling fingers and shakily reinforced the Silencing Charm around her bed. It wouldn’t do for her to wake one of her roommates at this hour. 

In her mind, locked deep behind mental barriers, her conscience stirred feebly. You should be asleep too, it whispered. 

But sleep was the last thing on Ginny’s mind. 

Her breath came in a sudden inhalation as she plunged her fingers once more into her aching heat. She groaned, and fell backwards against the bed, already hungry for more, hungry for the waves of desire that washed over her, obliterating thought and numbing senses. 

Hungry for the boy who had tortured her mental past, haunting her dreams and lingering in her thoughts almost every day since she had first seen him on Kings Cross Station. 

 

She had never done this before, too scared of her own body and of her own emotions to explore new sensations, but she could bear it no longer.

Why did she feel this way? Why? Why only Harry? Michael, Colin, even Dean; she didn’t feel for them anywhere near the way she felt for Harry. She had secretly adored him, always, long before he had saved her life in the Chamber and finally got rid of Riddle. She had tried so hard to keep her feelings safe, to force herself to believe, however hard it was to accept it, that they were not meant for each other. 

Yet, she could bear it no longer.

Wherever she was, on the Quidditch pitch, in the common room or at meals, she had lost count of the number of times in the past few years her heart had skipped a beat every time he looked in her direction, the number of times a warm, mellow feeling flowed through her whenever he spoke, how many times the accidental brush of his hand on her skin had sent a jolt of longing through her heart straight to her groin. 

She groaned and tossed her head feverishly on the bed as her fingers worked on the most intimate parts of her anatomy, the waves of excitement crashing through her. A single spark, white-hot with pleasure, ignited inside herself and slowly started to grow, throbbing through her body in starbursts of rapture, burning in her veins and crackling from her fingertips.

“Oh Lord, oh Harry, oh yes, yes, _yes_!” The words almost tumbled from her lips as the spark suddenly exploded and she rose to an incredible throbbing culmination, the strongest orgasm she had had that evening. Her entire body went stiff and shuddered violently as a hurricane of intense pleasure engulfed her.

However, once the hurricane had passed, leaving her shuddering and sobbing for breath in its wake, she did not stop, but plunged on with startling ruthlessness, aware that this time her self-pleasuring was fierce and unrestrained, almost desperate. With her right hand she rolled her swollen nub back and forth between thumb and forefinger, while with her left hand she plucked at her nipples, which by now had transformed into dual rock-hard peaks like blood-red pebbles. She squeezed one of them hard and gritted her teeth as a pang of red-hot energy coursed through her breasts, like an electric shock, only pleasurable. She squeezed again, and a third time, and then a fourth time. 

Her ninth orgasm flooded her with stunning ferocity.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she hung there, in unbelievable ecstasy. A scream tore free from her ravaged lungs and echoed around the magically enclosed area she was occupying. Her mind went blank, wiped clean by a humming red mist which threatened to completely cloak her vision. 

A single tear trickled down her flushed freckled cheek as she lay shattered. Her last peak had been so powerful it had almost become physical pain. Through her reeling consciousness, she was vaguely aware of something warm and sticky trickling free of her still-pulsing entrance, and a twinge of surprise and fear entered her mind as she feebly touched the place with a finger and it came away covered in bright red liquid. 

What was she going to do?

She was frantically in love with Harry; of that she was sure. But what could she do about it? She had tried to get him to take more notice of her; on Hermione’s advice, she had tried to change character. She was now no longer the silly little girl who had had a unrequited crush on the Boy Who Lived, her brother’s best friend, the saviour of the Wizarding World and, now that Voldemort had returned, had more responsibility then ever; to Dumbledore, to the Order, to his friends. She had got out more, had become more confident and assertive, more grown-up. 

And it was undoubted he had noticed a change. He had been looking at her differently all year. 

But she was dying for him. He was killing her, she loved him so much, and he didn’t even realize. And the worst thing was, she didn’t know who to turn to. 

Her friends wouldn’t help; Luna wouldn’t know much about this subject, she was sure of that, and the rest of her year were just so caught up in their own little worlds. 

Neville was Harry’s roommate- he was out of the question. 

Hermione was always there as a helping hand. She was the only one who Ginny had talked about Harry with, as she was one of Harry’s closest companions and confidantes; but that was just the point. She was too close to Harry, it would be too risky to confess all to her. 

Charlie or Bill could provide brotherly guidance, as they were both reliable and looked out for her, and at least one of them had a fiancée, but both of them were out of the country. 

Fred and George, no way. They would just tease her. 

Mum and Dad? Well, what on earth would she be able to say to _them?_

And as for Ron...well, Ron was Ron, and a highly protective Ron at that. 

Ginny was not religious. She had never prayed before. But desperate times called for desperate measures. 

She sat up and knelt on her sweat-soaked bed, raising her hands and clasping them on her bare chest.

“Help me, please, whoever’s up there. Help me.” She closed her eyes tight, tears falling freely down her cheeks and dripping onto her clenched hands, mixing with the blood on her fingers and the sweat still trickling across her skin.

Every fiber of her being reaching out, pleading. Concentrating harder than she ever had in her life before, willing for the one thing which would stop her unbearable mental and emotional torture;

“Please, bring Harry closer to me.” 

 

 

 


End file.
